


Yayo

by xxx_Young_Blood_xxx



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M, dont read this, helpim tired, i was probs drunk when i wrote this, idk its ur choice man, im so sorry, lordy, wait no do, what am I saying
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 22:43:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3094709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxx_Young_Blood_xxx/pseuds/xxx_Young_Blood_xxx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He looked up at Pete with hungry eyes, complete with a dark blue shadow around the gold in his eyes, blown pupils. It made the cramped room seem that much smaller, more humid. </p><p>Pete clenched and unclenched his fists, torn between wanting to punch Patrick in the stomach and run away or grab his face and kiss him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Yayo

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm thinking of writing a sequel to this?? I don't know, like their first time and how this whole side of their relationship got started and when. And maybe another ending? I apologize if you read this, and shout out to the main homes Emmett for giving me this prompt:
> 
> "OKAY FICK SO LIKE Patrick starts getting on lana del rays dick and singing it to himself but it's not a secret that he thinks ldr is the shit so like Pete catches him singing in the shower one day on the bus and he's singing yayo and when patrick gets to the chorus he's like shIT?¿??¿?¿ WhAT PATRIck. lol and he's like fUCK patrick idk im lame?? dont use this pls man"
> 
> I changed it around a bit but it is still very much based off of this. And a little side note, if you haven't listened to "Yayo" by Lana Del Ray I fuckin' strongly suggest you do, dum. 'Sides, it's sort of in time with the fic, if you're a rather fast reader.

" _Put me onto your black motorcycle, fifty baby doll dress for my_ 'I do'..."

 

It wasn't rare to hear singing at weird times of the morning on the bus. Especially before a big concert like today. Technically today at least, Pete thought, checked his phone, the brightness making him go blind for a brief moment. 3:58. Four in the morning? Joe and Andy were pretty heavy sleepers, Pete wasn't, his dilemma was pretty obvious. He climbed out of his bunk and followed Patrick's voice to the back of the bus. At least he _tried_ to let the other guys sleep.

 

" _-Put on a show for you Daddy, let me put on, a show, let me put on, a show for you_ tiger _ _... let me, put on, a show..."__

 

Was Patrick actually singing Lana Del Ray? He wanted to laugh and tell him to go the hell to sleep, but that was one of Pete's favorite songs by her, and after all these years he's never gotten tired of Patrick's voice. Ever. And he was already awake so fuck it, he sat in a chair next to the closed bathroom door, listening to the other sing breathily and in a whisper. His voice cracked once in a while from how high he had to go at some points, but Patrick usually never had problems with range, unless it was that Ariana Grande type of shit, but it was also-- Pete checked the oven clock -- exactly four in the morning, so.

 

Patrick stopped suddenly and Pete raised a brow, glancing to the bathroom door in curiosity. The other let out a heavy and wet sound, like a sigh, like he was holding his breath, but he still kept on singing although he skipped a few lines and went straight to the chorus, now low and deep and a bit uneven and better than before. His voice broke in the middle of ' _Daddy_ ' and raspy breathing followed the strangled sound that escaped Patrick.

 

At this point Pete was freaking out a little.

 

He swallowed and stood up, stepping over the famous creaky spot on the floor that he knew would fuck him and put his ear right up against the door, sticking a finger in his other. His feet were cold on the wood and so were his hands, the cool finger violating his ear making him uncomfortable. He squirmed silently and let out a shiver, his arms were covered in goose bumps and his nipples were hard, that's how cold it was in Chicago in the winter, even with the heat on blast. His thighs were hot, though, almost sticky because of the heavy sweats he was currently wearing; so he fixed himself, let his dick breathe. Pete looked at his fingernails in the one ray of moonlight shining in through the window and saw that the cuticles were purple, and barely caught himself from huffing. He wanted to put on a shirt but he wouldn't move; he didn't want to leave just yet. Pete held his breath and listened, a faint hum sounding.

 

" _Hello heaven, you are a tunnel lined with, yellow lights..._ "

 

Patrick wasn't singing anymore, he was just talking as if he had suddenly ran three miles beforehand. Letting out a small breath, Pete breathed through his nose from then on. The hand that was flat on the door curled up absentmindedly, like he were trying to grasp at something on the other side. His body was rigid and inquisitive and he leaned closer into the door, and listened... soft pants was all there was for a handful of moments until it all stopped. Like the beat of a heart or the blink of an eye or the snap of a finger. Sudden and silent. He heard a quick, barely audible, mumbled ' _loveyou_ '. Pete held his breath again, afraid Patrick would hear him if he so much as twitched.

 

Pete, eventually, got the courage to turn the cold knob and opened the door, walking into a see-through grayish mist, hot, humid, and hard to breathe. No wonder Patrick had a rough time singing in here. He felt sweat forming on his head, about to ask what was wrong when Patrick stood up from the closed toilet he was sitting on initially that he had laid a towel on, pushing Pete back against the door and causing it to slam. Pete didn't know which made him wince; the sound or Patrick's navy eyes that looked him up and down. He couldn't read the other's expression. It varied, looking as if he were confused and desperate and angry and needy all in about five seconds. Pete was positive Joe and Andy wouldn't wake up from the noise, they'd slept through an entire Cobra Starship concert one time in a cheap room right behind the stage without earplugs. Loud as hell. He and Patrick needed the buds just to function. Crazy bastards.

 

A forearm was pressed hard against his chest and Patrick looked a little unsure, so Pete reached a hand up slowly to push the other back a bit by chest. "Pa-"

 

He was cut off by a harsh kiss, their teeth clinking and lips throbbing from the force a moment later. "Patr- hew- pft--" Pete tried to speak but his friend continued to kiss him, tugging on his lower lip and _what_ \-- his navy eyes turned a darker blue --how the fuck? Pete pushed Patrick away and sucked in his injured lower lip, tasting metal but there were no cuts.

 

"Are you okay?" Pete asked, a little shocked, advancing towards his friend slowly before he was shoved back again and grunted. Patrick leaned up and kissed Pete again, running his hands up and down the other's abdomen and pecs, in the grooves and dips, then hurriedly planted wet kisses on the corner of Pete's mouth and jaw.

 

"'Trick, hey, _Patrick_ , shit!" He exclaimed in a whisper, trying to push the singer away without hurting him, they did have a concert today after all. "What the hell are you _doing_? I'm married. We're both married," tried to push him away again, "with kids, man. We have kids. I know we did this a handful of times back when we were younger but like, that can't happen again--"

 

"Shut up." Patrick began to tug down Pete's sweats but the other pulled them back up, furrowing his brows.

 

"No, you fucking shut up. I don't know what the hell's gotten into you, but we can't do this. Not ever. Married, Patrick. Kids, _Patrick_. A life with _women_. Those few times were great, but I can't--"

 

Pete was cut off once more. "It's not about any of that. I don't wanna do this because I'm _in love_ with you, Pete. Elisa wanted me to sing to her. She missed me. Then we had phone sex and she still wanted me to sing, it's a fetish of hers. But then she had to go, her friend was coming or-- whatever. And I was almost done. You know Elisa and Meagan are okay with us, we all had that talk. As long as it's just us and we're on tour. Once in a while. You know that. And Pete," he clenched his jaw and his dripping hair shined in the dull light of the bathroom, little droplets of water still scattered across his bare chest like stars in a galaxy, "I'm so turned on right now I can't even comprehend-- you don't even know. I'm so fucking horny and I wanna fuck you _so_ hard in this bathroom that you won't be able to _walk_ at the concert today. Pete, I'm tired and turned on and hungry and all I want to do is have sex with you right now, in this bathroom, and I wanna make you moan. I haven't heard you moan in fucking _ages_." Patrick attached himself to a particular spot where a tendon in Pete's neck started, above to his collarbone. The bassist sighed and his knees wobbled, the kisses getting to him, not to mention that little speech his friend just gave.

 

Pete felt a droplet of sweat trickle down the side of his head, along his jaw and down his throat, which Patrick licked. "Patrick. I don't think it's a good idea though; what if we... I'm married," he said the last part to himself although he knew Patrick could hear, "we shouldn't be doing this." The shorter man sighed hotly into Pete's ear, and Pete hated how the other remembered close to all of his little setoff points, and that he could feel himself getting hard. Guiltily.

Maybe.

He clenched and unclenched his fists, torn between wanting to punch Patrick in the stomach and run away or grab his face and kiss him. But he couldn't get Bronx's, Saint's, and Meagan's faces out of his mind. Patrick cupped him through his sweatpants and squeezed softly, nibbling on his jugular but not sucking, not leaving a bruise, just mouthing at it; thoughtful. He trailed open-mouthed kisses down his chest and Pete could feel the other's full lips so clearly it was just odd. Patrick sank down to his knees, giving a little more attention to the Clandestine tat, tracing the outline of it with his tongue. He looked up at Pete with hungry eyes, complete with a dark blue shadow around the gold in his eyes, blown pupils. It made the cramped room seem that much smaller and more humid.

 

"You think I'm not thinking about Declan and Elisa? They're on my mind all the time. Every single day. Right now. But just be selfish for twenty minutes. Or thirty. Depends." Patrick attempted to wear a smirk, hooking his fingers in the waistband of his best friend's sweats, and peeked up at him so innocently and unintentionally seductive--

 

"...Please?"

 

Pete swallowed thickly at the simple word-- but the way he _said_ it --he knew the other didn't mean for it to come out that way, so fucking smooth and pure and _hot_... ugh, it should have been illegal. The police should have come and arrested Patrick because he said that word the way he did. The bassist felt a few more particles of sweat fall down his neck and chest, it was hard to breathe and Patrick was so damn attractive he couldn't even try to deny it and he was hard and how the hell did he get sucked into this? He ran his fingers through the other's damp, dark hair, pulling on it softly, and let out a small sigh.

 

"...Make it good, you fool."

 

Patrick smirked fully then and tugged down Pete's heavy pants (never wore underwear to bed, too restricting), taking hold of his dick and pumping it slowly. The taller man sighed softly and tried to imagine that it was Meagan. Not that Patrick was ugly or bad, he was actually quite good at getting Pete off if he remembered right; it's just that they haven't done this in close to thirteen years and he was _married_ , and so extremely loyal to Meagan that sometimes he couldn't believe that his twenties actually happened. It was sort of hard to just forget all that for even a short period of time.

 

Although when Patrick put his mouth on him and went down on him, took him slow and deep down his throat, Pete forgot about his family for a second. And then a few more seconds. The other held it for a moment then pulled off, heavy panting following for a few seconds.

 

"I can't do that a lot. I still have to sing today," he stated, not even giving Pete time to nod before he attached his mouth to the tip, sucking lightly and swirling his tongue around in little circles. Pete groaned quietly, running his hand through the wet hair and getting a better grip. He noticed the slight smirk that appeared as best it could on Patrick's puckered lips and hollowed cheeks. Then the other started to actually suck him off, aware that Pete hated too much teasing. The bassist smiled at how the other remembered but it immediately turned into another expression, almost pained-looking but quite the opposite, a moan escaping his lips. Patrick continued and held onto his friend's narrow hips tightly, stroking the prominent 'V' with his thumbs affectionately. He was proud of himself, the dick.

 

A few more minutes of this and Pete finally noticed one of his friend's hands had left his side and went where Pete couldn't see, although he saw the familiar motion of up and down, Patrick's forearm muscles tightening just below his stomach. He held back a loud sound of frustration in his throat, swallowing it, because he wanted to fucking slam Patrick's head against the shower wall, turn on the water, and fuck him hard enough to engrave in his brain that he had to ask someone first before he made out with them.

 

"Shit-- man, don't do th..." Pete's hips stuttered as Patrick ran his teeth along the shaft lightly, cheeks barely hollowed but just enough to see his sharp cheekbones poke through. On the verge of coming the singer pulled off, squeezing the base, causing Pete to growl and jerk his friend's head upwards by his hair. He saw Patrick wince but he was smiling, his bottom lip between his teeth. Slowly his teeth let go and his lip bounced back into place, red and swollen. Pete stared with half lidded chocolate eyes, licking his lower lip and quickly drew his teeth over it.

 

"Fuck," he breathed out a chuckle, "I forgot how hot you were when you did this." He rubbed the back of Patrick's scalp in a silent apology and Patrick pulled off the sweatpants completely, throwing them into the sink, then stood up. He grasped Pete's wrist and led him into the shower hastily with Pete biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling; because he's never seen this dominant, fucking _sexy_ side of his best friend out of the 14 or 15 years they've known each other, even in their past experiences.

 

Patrick closed the shower door and turned around, reaching past Pete to turn on the shower, a cool stream bursting out and hitting Pete in the back, making him hiss briefly. Patrick chuckled and advanced toward Pete, cupping his face with one hand and thumbing at his cheek, placing the other on Pete's hip. "Thanks, Pete. For doing this," the singer smiled softly, then let out a breathy laugh and the cerulean eyes were becoming navy again, "now hand me the conditioner." Pete nodded once and followed the other's directions, watching Patrick squeeze some of Andy's conditioner onto his fingers, then put it back onto the ground. The bassist turned around, faced the tile and stuck out his ass nonchalantly, forearms bracing himself. Patrick ran his non-lubed hand across Pete's butt and squeezed a tan globe roughly. Pete practically purred, the blunt nails digging into the flesh not even fazing him.

 

"Can never do this with ‘Lis,” Patrick grumbled. “You know what I miss?" He questioned suddenly, causing Pete to rotate his head and grunt in response. The other circled his ready fingers around Pete's hole and the taller man swallowed, trying to relax as best he could. "When you get that look of absolute bliss on your face. Like, your jaw goes slack and it looks like you can barely keep your eyes open, and your eyes are a goddamn dark brown instead of hazel..." Patrick went on, sticking one digit of one finger inside, rubbing small circles on Pete's hipbone. "And your face gets all red and then you bite your lips-- _ugh_." Patrick slowly bit his lip himself, gradually pushing the rest of his finger in, placing a peck on the back of his friend's neck in an attempt to relax him.

 

Pete closed his eyes and just focused on relaxing his lower body, in progress of a really bad attempt to not think about their past experiences. **((AN: insert possible flashback of an encounter if you guys want it?))** He was silent except for the small grunts and sighs he made as his friend pushed more digits, and soon enough, more fingers, into him. Once in a while there was a rushed _wait, stop_ , when it became painful, but other than that Patrick was gentle and attentive and he mumbled small _okay_ 's and kissed the tattoos on Pete's back with wet lips. And when he could feel the slight smile on them between his shoulder blades and neck, his chest expanded and felt cramped, his heart felt too big. And he felt, as a husband and father, like he was being way too selfish right now.

 

This was about getting Patrick off and making him happy. It wasn't that he didn't want it, he was fucking turned on too and Patrick wasn't half-bad looking, he was just afraid he'd fall in love with his best friend all over again, sit around and mope that he couldn't have him like he did when he was younger, and they definitely didn't need that in their lives right now. They both had kids for shit's sake, they were in their thirties and shouldn't be trying to fuck like high schoolers. He wasn't in love with Patrick, but Pete had the tendency to slightly fall in love with everyone who he had sex with, gave a little piece of his heart to every partner he's had even if they didn’t want it; that's why he was nervous.

 

"Okay?"

 

Pete blinked and noticed the shower had run cold, causing his teeth to clink against each other. He reached up and turned the knob to the left, heating up the water. "Yeah. Show me what you got," Pete half joked, half seriously wanting to get fucked _hard_. Kind of just wanted to forget everything for a while, his wife and kids, the band and everything, just focus on Patrick. Not dying of hypothermia, just Patrick and the sweet little pecks he placed on Pete’s body when he thought he was uncomfortable.

 

Patrick slid in easily and laid himself out on Pete's back, his forehead pressing against the back of Pete's head. He let out a breath that tried to be a moan but sounded too weak, all whispery and fragile and breaking, in the bassist's ear, causing Pete's ear to wiggle.

 

He hasn't felt this mixture of uncomfortable and heaven in years, feeling just the right amount of full but also wanting to run away from the foreign thing entering his body. Fight or flight mode. Pete's sigh of content turned into a loud, throaty moan as all of Patrick disappeared into him, and fuck he could feel the other so _far_ inside of him that he wanted to cry at the science of it but also scream ' _fuck me you asshole_ ' at the top of his lungs. He subconsciously shrugged at his mixed emotions.

 

"Patrick..." Pete couldn't even finish his thought before his friend kissed his spine multiple times in the same place quickly. Pete guessed that was Morse code for either ' _I love you_ ' or ' _shut the hell up before you wake up the guys_ '. Patrick hovered over him, blocking the stream of steady water, but he was just as warm. Pete shifted and his ass was on fire in the best and worst possible way, forearms pressed against the tile wall and leaning his forehead on them. "Come on," Pete urged, and he wasn't even the one that wanted to do this in the first place, but damn it if Patrick didn't bring him to that place where every touch and whisper and sound and taste is beautiful; he couldn't really help it that he now wanted to just be thrown around and be dirtied like a kid’s new toy.

 

"Fuck," and Pete could hear the silent, embarrassed smile in Patrick's voice, "I forgot the name of the band for a second there." And Pete felt a sense of pride wash over him.

 

"Just do me already. And hard, like you promised."

 

Patrick's hands migrated to Pete's hips and gripped tight, stubby nails making moons in his skin. The other pulled out almost fully and Pete was about to punch himself in the face before his friend slammed back in, impossibly far and Pete still wanted to punch himself in the face because he thought he was dead, he thought he was where deceased Christians went. He wanted to revive himself. A low growl escaped the younger when he noticed Pete's slacked jaw expression, fueling him.

 

He started slow but harsh, making Pete feeling like he had a full meal before this, then unexpectedly sped up and there _had_ to be some place beyond heaven because Pete was there.

 

Patrick ran his fingers through Pete's short hair, one hand still on his friend's hip, grabbing at the bleached hair but barely grasping any strands.

 

"Shit, wish you had more hair. And that it was black again."

 

Pete felt a little offended but it was quickly fucked out of him, making him let out a needy groan, a small sigh ending it.

 

"Fuck-- fuck you, I'm happy with it now," he shifted and braced himself against the tile with just his hands, feeling like his asshole was being ripped apart, but, with every shot of pain there was a slightly bigger shock of pleasure than ran through his body, "and why, I like it short."

 

"Nothing to pull on," the other said, mussing the short, bleached strands of Pete's hair, "but it's okay. I like to think I'm fucking Eminem."

 

Pete and Patrick both laughed at the same time, but as soon as it came it was gone, Pete cutting himself off with a yelp as Patrick just _barely_ brushed against his prostate, scratching the wall for something to hold on to. "Fuck, fuck, _fuck_...! Patrick-- 'Trick, 'Trick--" all his brain was capable of right now was repeating words over and over. Patrick was so close to his prostate with every thrust and Pete was so frustrated that he wasn't hitting it that he actually had to urge to scream, and not in pleasure.

 

"Fucking _move_ , Patrick! More there--"

 

"God your ass is stiff. Like, really muscly."

 

Um, what?

 

Pete scrunched his nose and knitted his eyebrows together. "Is that bad, or--?"

 

"No. Well, I don't know. I like it. Firm." The singer panted softly and immediately he raised a calloused hand and brought it down hard, causing Pete to jump and inhale sharply. Patrick chuckled and the piercing sound rang throughout the bathroom; and Pete winced, not because of the sting in his asscheek.

 

"What the _hell_ , man? We're not alone, y'know." Patrick rolled his eyes although Pete couldn't see, feeling pride in the dark red, warm handprint that was rising on the other's tan skin. The singer continued his unforgiving thrusts, but Pete only sighed, which to Patrick meant that he wasn't being where Pete wanted him to be. He huffed out a soft breath and sped up his hips, searching for the other's bundle of nerves that unlocked constant pleasure.

 

"How do you get your," heaved out a breath, "ass like that." Patrick more-so stated than asked, one side of his brain strangely curious, the other already mush from pleasure.

 

 _Just a centimeter over..._ "Meag-- oh, shit. Oh fucking _fuck_ , 'Trick--"

 

Wait, what was he gonna say? What-- hold up, _what was his wife's name_? Fuck, Mary? Maggie?

 

Patrick hit Pete's prostate so hard that he forgot his wife's name for a few seconds. _Damn_.

 

Pete moaned deeply and his legs turned to Jell-O, collapsing and almost bringing Patrick down with him. But the younger hooked an arm around the bassist's waist and caught him, halting his actions for a short moment.

 

"Please don't stop..." and Pete thinks that out of the 20-something years he's been sexually active, he's never sounded so desperate and broken and weak. Patrick seemed to like it though, and moaned softly himself, pulling out and turning Pete around who whined quietly from the loss.

 

God, he was being such a little bitch right now; but he honestly couldn’t care less as long as he came.

 

He lifted Pete and wrapped his legs around his hips quickly, reentering deep and rough. Pete trembled and held onto Patrick's shoulders for his fucking life, digging his nails into the pale flesh, and hopefully there'd be no bruises later. They stayed like that for a few moments, feeling the heat of each other because the water started to cool again, but regardless, neither cared. Patrick slowly got back his rhythm, lifting his friend by his ass and letting him back down as his own hips pushed upward. It wasn't as fast as the first position but the new one made Patrick's thrusts deeper, and by the way Pete was clawing at his back, Patrick knew he made the right decision.

 

Pete tightened his thighs around Patrick’s hips, pulling himself closer into the other, burying his face in his neck. It wasn’t slow and it wasn’t fast and sweat formed on his head but the spray overhead washed it away, mixing it with the pure water, and Pete was moaning and Patrick was sucking on Pete’s shoulder and Pete’s dick was rubbing against Patrick’s stomach and—

 

“ _Ah_ , f… fuck. Fuck fuck, shit. Patrick, fas—no, never mind; there. Damn, _there_ , ah!”

 

Pete came on both his and the other’s pecs and stomachs, then wrapped his arms around Patrick’s neck to keep from falling and answering very strange questions from Joe and Andy as to why they were in the shower together naked, and why his arm was broken. He let out brief, delicate moans in Patrick’s ear, clenching around him and attempting to smirk at the dragged out ‘ _fuuck_ ’ that escaped his best friend’s lips.

 

“G—Jesus, you sound like such a whore right now.” Patrick breathed out a chuckle, although cut himself off with a mewl when Pete rolled his hips down on him. “Ugh… my point exactly.” He pulled back and bit his lip at Pete, a smile poking through and Christ Pete wanted to smack that smile off Patrick’s face and kiss it away at the same time.

 

“Fuck you, asshole. You were worse when we were young—god _damn_ , I’m gonna get hard again if you keep that up. Hurry, the guys are gonna wake up.”

 

“Shut up, hell, I’m trying—“

 

“Can I kiss you?”

 

“…As long as I don’t suffocate.”

 

“Can’t promise that.” Pete leaned forward and kissed Patrick chastely, dragging his fingernails along the other’s hair on the nape of his neck. After a short moment he shoved his tongue inside Patrick’s mouth, catching him off guard and winning a whimper from it. Patrick’s thrusts were now erratic and uneven, and Pete detached himself from the singer’s lips, placing open-mouthed kisses along his jaw. His trail was only left there for a few sad seconds until the water rid it from Patrick’s jawline, but by then he was already about two kisses ahead. Soon enough he made his way toward his friend’s ear, tugging on the earlobe sharply with his teeth, then apologizing for it with a lick along the shell of his ear. Patrick wiggled his ear involuntarily, shivering even though the water was currently warm.

 

“Stop, Pete…”

 

Pete licked it again out of spite, and Patrick suddenly pushed him against the wall, pinning his hands up beside his head roughly. He had a dark look in his eye, and Pete felt his abdomen tighten. "Told you to stop--" Patrick held Pete there with brute force and fucked him with the same strength, relentless and he attached his mouth to the base of Pete's neck, biting down and sucking. Pete wailed and bared the rest of his neck to Patrick, forgetting that he was going on stage in about fourteen hours. He could be questioned for having hickies since they’ve been on tour for about a month straight, not being able to see his wife, but being this turned on and this attended to, Pete couldn’t find a fuck to give.

 

"Oh _God_ \--" Patrick muffled against wet skin, let go with a heavy breath and his hips stuttered upwards into Pete, coming inside of him and pressing his forehead against the cool tile wall. Pete's eyes were, at the moment, half lidded, and his neck had a dull ache in a particular spot. After a handful of moments Patrick relaxed, but his arms shook slightly from holding Pete’s weight.

 

"Wait. Wait, please don't put me down. I can't walk; please man. I'm gonna crumple to the floor like a cripple."

 

Patrick laughed breathily. “I’m a big boy, I got it.” He shifted one hand to Pete’s ass and slid his finger inside, and at first Pete thought that he wanted to go another round (he couldn’t go another round, he was 36 for God’s sake. Unless he was really persuaded--), but soon enough realized that Patrick was just cleaning him out. Pete couldn’t find the energy to blush but if he did, he probably would have, a bit. When the other was done he took a breath and lifted Pete up and away from the wall, moving him to carry him bridal style. He inhaled once more, legs likely like jelly, and exited the shower sideways, soaked and twice as heavy. He walked to the door and opened it with one hand, walking out and biting his lips, wincing, because of the cold. On the way to the bunks Pete broke out into giggles a few times just at the thought of the sight of them. He calmed down when they reached the beds though, Patrick placing him in his bottom one and climbing in with him for a second, too cold and wet to function.

 

"I saw about 10 different sides of you during that." Patrick commented after a while, and Pete's laughter made him relax.

 

"Ditto," Pete stated, lying next to Patrick and putting his head in the crook of the other's neck. He looked down and cracked a smirk, looking back up at the singer.

 

"So _that's_ what you fucked me with, 'Trick?" He jerked his head and motioned to Patrick's dick, letting out a chuckle. Patrick slapped him on the forehead, climbing out.

 

"Asshole. It's cold." He mumbled before disappearing down the hall, back to the bathroom. Pete heard the shower turn off and some ruffling around, then a door shut quietly. Patrick returned to his bunk a couple seconds later with only boxers on and a pile of clothes in his arms. He threw Pete's sweats at his face. "Get dressed, we're sleeping together tonight."

 

"Oh, feisty," Pete said with a devilish grin while shrugging on his sweatpants.

 

"I actually will punch you in the dick, so I suggest you shut your mouth and go the fuck to sleep," Patrick promised as he climbed in once more, pushing Pete onto his side and pressing himself flush against the other. He laid an arm over the bassist’s side, hooking his hand underneath his ribs. He was always a cuddler.

 

"Hey."

 

"Hm," Pete grunted, pushing back more against his friend, his back and Patrick's stomach still clammy and damp from the shower. "Thanks." Patrick kissed the back of Pete's neck and pulled him closer, exhaling slowly.

 

"Anytime." He smiled to himself and relaxed, curling his body along the shape of Patrick's and trying to convince himself that he didn't mean it, that he was joking. He failed and stopped around an hour later, Patrick already asleep and Joe waking up to make coffee, with a sarcastic, tired smile on his face.

 

Fuck.


	2. Yayo (continued)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just an add-on to the first chapter. You can either stop at the end of the first or go on and read this one, it doesn't matter. :) I also do not know the name of their current bodyguard, so I used the name of one of their old ones. Sorry! And yes, I know they probably have a lot more people on their bus and an actual driver, so just bear with me, I tried my best lol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i wrote this in about five hours, please forgive me if it sucks and/or seems rushed. love you guys <3

When Pete woke up for the day about an hour later, Patrick was still asleep and from past experience there was no use trying to get him up, the smell of coffee filling his nostrils. After just lying there for a few minutes, trying to comprehend what had happened last night, he finally got out of his bed, not really caring if Patrick somehow magically woke up because Pete stepped on him. He stretched and yelled nothing, just let out a sound because the stretch felt amazing, then scratched his lower back and headed to the ‘kitchen’ about twenty feet away. Pete mumbled a ‘ _morning_ ’ as he walked past Joe and Andy, helping himself to the coffee. He poured about half a mug full and threw in sugar, cream, milk and sweetener, causing the initial dark brown drink to swirl and become a hazelnut color. The bassist slowly slid into the booth next to Joe at the table across the kitchen and tried to not make it obvious that his butt was sore as heck and hunched over, sipping at his morning drink.

 

“You guys hear that sound last night? Like a slam? I mean, it woke me up for like a second, but then I was out cold again. We didn’t stop last night, did we? We weren’t scheduled to, at least.” Andy questioned, looking at Pete, then Joe, then Pete again neutrally. Pete swallowed his coffee thickly, nervous, but he’d lied enough in his life to keep cool when things like this came up.

 

“Charlie might’ve ran over a raccoon or a possum,” Pete suggested, shrugging and nursing his sweetened coffee. Joe made a ‘yeah, maybe’ expression, the corners of his lips tugging downward and eyebrows rising. He wasn’t really a morning person, didn’t really like to talk before the hours of eleven AM, but he wasn’t like Patrick. That guy was on a whole other level of not being a morning person. On tour, he never saw the light of day until around three in the afternoon, and if they were really lucky, they’d see him around twelve. Pete was only a morning person because of his kids, having to take Bronx to school at least three days a week, Meagan took him the other two or three, and waking up to Saint crying at weird times of the night. Andy was one just because he was one of those strange people that liked watching the news and eating their breakfast at a decent time and looking like a normal human being.

 

“Maybe, I’ll ask later.” Andy stated, bringing his toast with peanut butter up to his mouth, taking a bite and licking the leftover peanut butter off of his lips and the edge of his beard. Joe only grunted in agreement, taking a big gulp of his plain black coffee to try to stay awake.

 

Pete made a mental note to tell Charlie later to say that he did, in fact, run over a raccoon, even if he didn’t, and to get there before Andy did.

 

A few minutes of comfortable, dazy silence later (save for slurps of coffee, crunches of Andy’s toast, and the occasional bump of the bus as they traveled), Andy spoke up again. “Patrick’s on vocal rest today, right Pete?” Pete nodded, making it seem like he actually remembered. He just hoped that Patrick’s voice wasn’t fucked up because of last night.

 

“Yeah, tell me when he wakes up,” so that he followed him around all day to translate what the other wanted to say. He was a good Patrick Stump translator. Pete sighed and looked down at his half finished coffee, telling himself he’d finish it later after he called Meagan. He always called her, once in the morning and once at night to tell her how his day or a concert went. Pete slid out of the booth, holding in a wince as his ass wasn’t supported anymore, hobbling back to his bunk and shrugging on Patrick’s shirt from the night before and looking behind his curtain, searching for his phone in the sheets. But it was rather hard when there was a Patrick in the way. He became a bit annoyed and rolled his friend over, making the unconscious man let out a small ‘oof’ but he didn’t wake, and finally finding his phone underneath him. Pete rolled his eyes, and just because he could, pulled down Patrick’s boxers, exposing his pale ass to the world. “Pft,” he held in a laugh, smiling, smacking the other’s butt lightly and watched it jiggle, and heard an angry grumble come from the sleeping form. That was his cue.

 

He walked away, _Christ, he was so childish_ , toward the front of the bus and dialed Megan’s number, pausing to talk to Charlie. “Hey. Mornin’. If anyone asks, most likely Andy, you ran over a raccoon or possum last night. Please don’t ask. Oh, pull over here,” he said softly, and Charlie glared up at him, “please?” He continued to glare. “Fine. I’ll buy you some gummy bears at a vending machine.” Charlie finally smiled, turning in to the rest stop and sighing happily. “Two, since I’m lying _and_ pulling over.”

 

“Okay, whatever. Thanks, man. You’re a lifesaver.”

 

“Actually, get me a pack of those, too. While you’re at it. We still have about a hundred miles to go to Chicago and I get hungry.”

 

“You got it, dude,” Pete assured in a high voice, quoting Michelle from Full House and giving him a thumbs up. He stepped off and watched Andy and Joe escape the bus a few moments later, stretching and hanging outside the bus to just be in the real world with real surroundings, conversing. Pete walked a good ways away from them as well as other people, relieved that no one cared who he was. He sat down on a bench and pressed call on Meagan’s number, though she was saved as ‘MJ’ with a heart emoji before and after her name. He waited about two rings until she picked up, smiling when he heard her sleepy voice, feeling refreshed.

 

“Hm? Yeah, yeah, I was totally up.”

 

“Right,” he shook his head, smiling, “morning, babe.”

 

“Good morning, Peter.”

 

“Are you up for a serious talk?”

 

“Ha. On a scale of one to ten, how serious? ‘Cause if it’s a six or less, maybe later. I did just wake up.”

 

“Eh, about an eight or a nine, depends on how you take it. How are the kids?”

 

“Bronx is at school and Saint’s asleep, luckily. Such a sweet baby. I wish you were here,” _so do I_ , “sounds pretty serious, then. What is it?”

 

“Remember when me, you, Patrick and Elisa had that one talk about me and Patrick?”

 

“Yeah, yeah. What, you guys had sex? ‘Cause if that’s it, that’s more of like, a six.”

 

“You’re not angry?”

 

“Seriously, Pete? Did you think I would be? I’d rather you guys have sex every day on tour than you fuck some sleazy 20-something just to brag to her friends that she did you. That doesn’t even count as cheating to me, man. I mean, don’t fall in love with him, you’re mine—“

 

“And you’re mine. I won’t.”

 

He could hear the smile in her voice. “But I’m okay with it, remember? Elisa might be a different story—just as long as you come home to me and Bronx and Saint.”

 

“I will—do, baby. I will. I always do. Fuck, I love you so much. So so much. I miss you guys.”

 

“And I love you, Peter. We miss you more. Pretend I’m kissing you right now.”

 

Pete laughed, holding his chin in his other unoccupied hand and smiling. “I love you,” he repeated, watching an old couple walk past and noticing the lady smiling down at him.

 

Meagan huffed in an amused manner. “Go be on tour, Pete. Have fun. I love you too.”

 

“Tell the kids Daddy loves them.”

 

“I promise I will. I’m not mad, okay? Remember that. Bye, babe.”

 

Pete said his goodbyes and ended the call, smiling and walking back to the bus, ignoring the secondhand smoke coming from Joe’s cigarette, Andy not seeming to mind at the moment, though.

 

“Hey man, what happened to your neck? You fuck some chick last night backstage or something?” Joe asked, causing Andy to look as well, glancing at the faint brown hickey on his neck. Pete pretended that he hadn’t seen it before, touching it softly with his fingers.

 

“Oh, uh, some girl tried giving me a hickey at the meet’n’greet yesterday night. Just, like,” he imitated someone grabbing another imaginary person and sucking their neck. “I don’t know. She came outta nowhere and was like a vampire, man. Just, jumped and sucked,” he chuckled at his choice of words. “Got her off almost right after she started. Didn’t think it’d leave a mark, though…” he trailed off, internally on his knees praying that they’d believe his lie.

 

Joe shook his head and rolled his eyes, taking another drag of his cig. He believed it, _come on Andy…_. Andy let out a laugh and clapped once, leaning back against the bus. “Ah, Wentz still has it. Better not let Meagan see that, though.”

 

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll be careful.” He went off to go inside the surprisingly fancy rest stop, searching for a vending machine. After a short while he finally found one, taking off the rubber part of his Otterbox on his phone and getting out a crumpled five dollar bill, always kept small amounts of money in there. He ordered two packs of gummy bears and two Lifesavers, collecting his change and heading back to the bus. “You guys ready? Charlie says we have about 100 more to go.”

 

The pair nodded and climbed on after Pete, the bassist throwing the candy at their bodyguard slash driver-at-times, which he got thanked for. He nodded at the much larger man and made his way to the back of the bus, throwing his phone on the kitchen table on the way, to the bathroom. Pete looked around, studied the room, making sure there was nothing suspicious or questionable lying around or out of place. He fixed up the shower, placing Andy’s conditioner back in his shower container, they each had their own. Other than that bottle, Patrick did a pretty good job of cleaning up the place. Pete walked out of the bathroom, shutting the door behind him and almost running into Joe. He smelled like smoke, but Pete just stepped back a foot and he was fine, used to it.

 

“Why is Patrick in your bunk and why is his underwear pulled down?” Joe asked in curiosity, cracking an amused smile.

 

“Dreams, I asked him to sleep with me,” Pete, once in a blue moon, had reoccurring nightmares that scared the shit out of him and he refused to sleep alone when he had them, so Joe nodded in understanding. “And I got bored this morning and pulled down his boxers, I don’t know, I thought it was funny.” He shrugged, telling the truth that time.

 

“Pete Wentz, everybody.”

 

“Aye,” Pete exclaimed, laughing and walking past Joe, and even though it wasn’t Thanksgiving, he was thankful for how quick he was on his feet.

 

He returned to his bunk and laid on Patrick, waking him up manually and preparing for the extreme poutiness.

 

“Huh—what, Elis—Pete, was it--?” He paused, glaring at him.”Fuggin’ asshole. What.” Pete peeked out of both sides of his bunk before looking back at Patrick and leaning in to whisper.

 

“I literally just saved both our asses like, three times. Get up, you sexy bastard.” He smacked Patrick’s ass again and let a smirk show when the other huffed and pulled his boxers back up, rubbing the irritated skin.

 

“So get me caught up?” Patrick yawned, rubbing his eyes with balled up fists and looking like a child. Pete sighed, leaning forward again and kissing his friend’s upper lip as he yawned, not paying attention to their morning breath. Patrick raised a brow when he was done, but not exactly fazed.

 

“I bought off Charlie to say that he ran over a raccoon last night to cover up the sound of the door slamming, when you _pushed me against it_ , I told Joe and Andy that a girl gave me a small hickey last night at the meet’n’greet, the one _you gave me_ , and you’re in my bunk because I had dreams last night and I asked you to sleep with me. So.”

 

“Sorry. I’m just tired. Thanks, Pete.” He kissed his friend on the cheek in a friendly way, running a hand through his mussed hair.

 

“I wasn’t done. I think you owe me.”

 

“Fuck, really man?”

 

“After last night and today, yeah.” Pete smirked toothily at Patrick’s annoyed groan, climbing out of his bunk. “After the concert, okay? Okay. Can't talk all day, vocal rest, remember?” He winked at Patrick who was currently puffing out his cheeks, looking at Pete with an ‘are you fucking kidding me’ expression.

 

-

 

“We love you, Chicago! You’ll secretly always be our favorite crowd. And have our favorite pizza,” Pete winked at the thousands of people who had come to see them, throwing a couple picks into the crowd and kicking a stray, giant, black American flag balloon back into the crowd and running off stage, following Andy. He laughed and set his Clandestine guitar on the stand, and the crew immediately began to pack up equipment and instruments. Pete clapped the other guys on their backs, handing out _good job man_ ’s, and when he got to Patrick he said the same thing, but afterwards whispered in his ear. “Come with me to the bathroom.”

 

“Wh--? Oh.” Patrick pouted slightly, he was too tired for this, and set his own guitar down on its stand, watching one of the equipment managers immediately pack it up in its case.

 

“Hey, Pete’s gotta go to the bathroom, I’m gonna be his backup; it’s okay,” Patrick put up a hand and told Charlie. He looked at them skeptically, then nodded and let them go. He followed close behind Pete to a public restroom, both covering their faces, but there were barely any fans out, since they were all trying to leave the stadium at once. Pete hurried them into the handicapped stall, not really considering that a handicapped person might need to use it, and this was a very important matter anyways, and pushed Patrick back against the wall, kissing him roughly.

 

“You tell Elisa yet?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, she was a little mad but she’s fine now. Doesn’t like to share,” Patrick smirked and curled a hand around the back of Pete’s head, scraping his fingernails along the back of his neck.

 

“Well I guess she’ll have to learn, then.” Patrick breathed out a chuckle.

 

“Yeah, _okay_.” He pulled in Pete for another kiss but the elder still dominated it, tugging on Patrick’s lip slowly and liking the taste, licking his own lips afterwards. Patrick leaned in for one more but was met with a cheek, and huffed.

 

“No more kissing. We don’t have a lot of time—“ Pete heard the bathroom door open and loud voices echo in the once-silent restroom, and he kissed Patrick once more, lying to himself and likely bruising the other’s lips from the force he put into it, “—so suck my dick and don’t disappoint me.” Pete smirked wolfishly, switching places with Patrick and pushing him down by his shoulders quickly.

 

“Okay um, _wow_ , you douchebag. Maybe I shouldn’t make it good.”

 

“Maybe I should shove my dick down your throat,” he said in a harsh whisper, being rude because he was anxious of his surroundings, “just, please,” he said softly, calming down as much as he could, running his fingers through Patrick’s sweaty hair and knocking off his fedora.

 

Patrick hummed, unzipping and unbuttoning Pete’s pants and palming him through his briefs. “That actually sounds really good right now.”

 

Pete’s eyes rolled back into his head from the pleasure that came from those words, his abdomen on fire. “ _Fuck_ ; oh yeah. It’s on now.” They didn’t have another show for three more days, so Pete could do whatever he liked, with Patrick’s consent, of course.

 

“Fuckin’ suck me, ‘Trick,” Pete said impatiently, bucking his hips up towards Patrick’s mouth and grabbing the horizontal pole on the wall behind him. Patrick pinched him on the thigh for using his almost full name and teasingly kissed the half-hard tent in his underwear.

 

“Oh shush. We have plenty of time,” he smiled up at Pete, placing his open mouth on the other’s clothed dick, licking it until he created a maroon spot on his red Calvin Kleins. Pete sighed and gripped the pole tighter, his thighs trembling slightly. Patrick pulled down his jeans all the way, then reached up and cupped his ass though his briefs, kneading roughly. The bassist didn’t know what to lean in to, Patrick’s fucking teasing mouth or the massaging hands on his butt, so he made a wave with his body, rocking back and forth in between the touches.

 

“’Trick—thought _I_ was supposed to be leading.”

 

Patrick pulled off, “I know, sorry. I just really like your ass.”

 

“I can tell.” Pete chuckled and shoved down his underwear, letting his dick free and stand at attention. Patrick licked his lips absentmindedly and looked up at Pete again, giving him that _same goddamn innocent look_ —and placing a hesitant kiss on the tip, swirling his tongue slowly around the circumference of it once, like he’d never sucked a guy off before. “ _Agh_ , what the hell was that?”

 

“Foreplay. Look it up. Learn it. Enjoy it.” Patrick ran his fingers in a feather-like fashion up and down the length of Pete’s dick, giving it one long lick and biting his lip when he noticed precum begin to form at the tip. He licked it off and hummed at the taste, using his thumb to spread the rest around. Patrick placed his mouth at the very top and sucked like he hadn’t done this yesterday, like he was trying to get more of the stuff into his mouth. Pete was a little oversensitive at that point, his hips stuttering but Patrick held them down with his forearm. “Not yet.”

 

“ _Yes_ , yet—“ Pete threw Patrick’s arm off of his pelvis, cupped the back of his head with one hand and grasped the hair there, holding him still. “No more foreplay, I mean it this time.” Patrick nodded and licked his lips, looking a bit worried for a second until he smirked toothily, and Pete knew that he was just playing around. He growled at the other’s cockiness and pushed his hips forward, feeling Patrick relax his throat around him and he moaned softly, putting his other hand over his mouth. He held Patrick there for a few seconds until he started to cough, then the bassist pulled back, smirking down at his friend’s shiny lips and chin, spit and precum mixed together, and Christ Pete was a little blindsided for a second as Patrick licked his lips.

 

“Asshole.”

 

“Whatever.” Pete laughed at Patrick who rolled his eyes, thrusting back in through the singer’s lips and down his throat again, and began to fuck his mouth after a couple moments. The wet, dirty sounds Patrick made were just _unreal_ , and he looked up at Pete with such focus and determination that Pete felt his dick twitch, Patrick wanted to please him so bad and Pete loved it.

 

He didn’t last long though, couldn’t too, because of the time frame they had to do this in, and pulled out between Patrick’s lips with a cry, not even giving any warning, and coming on his mouth and chin, aiming so that none got on his short sleeve denim button up, his favorite shirt. He expected Patrick to just wipe his face off with toilet paper but he reached up and took a finger, wiping it across the lower part of his face and collecting it all on one finger, and licked it off, looking at Pete straight in his eyes and winking.

 

“Damn, you’re a  freak.” Patrick laughed and as he stood up, pulled Pete’s pants north with him, buttoning and zipping them for him. He placed a kiss on Pete’s shaven cheek, licking it afterwards, which made the bassist make a sound of disgust and wipe his cheek off, chuckling. “Gross.”

 

Patrick waited a few seconds until the voices outside the stall disappeared, and hurriedly opened the door, pulling on Pete’s hand as he stumbled out. “Come on, _come on_ , you wanna die by the hands of our fans? Let’s _go_.” He commanded, helping Pete stand properly.

 

“I just fuckin’ creamed, okay? Give me like five seconds—“

 

“We don’t _have_ five seconds. You can beat me up later, we just have to go!” He tugged Pete out of the bathroom and into a large crowd, running past fans who tried to stop them and get a picture or an autograph or cop a feel. “Sorry, sorry, sorry, I know guys, I’m sorry, we’re just really busy—“ Patrick repeated to disappointed fans, with Pete giving sympathetic glances behind him. They made it to the bus with barely any scratches on them, panting as they leaned against the metal on the outside of it.

 

“Never again.” Patrick breathed out, trying to catch his breath, with Pete attempting the same.

 

“Yeah right,” he shot back, panting, winking at the other and climbing aboard the bus, spanking Patrick’s ass on the way.

 

Patrick clenched his jaw and let out a mocking noise, and when Pete was gone he pretended he was choking him.

 

Fuck Pete. But God, he loved him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will just be how this whole friends-with-occasional-benefits thing starts :)

**Author's Note:**

> lol but seriously i'm sorry for the crappy and ugh ending, i was tired and exhausted 
> 
> but i do have another that i'll upload, you can like stop here or go to the next chapter and keep reading, it doesn't really matter, nothing really changes except more more peterick and a bit of pete and meagan aw lol
> 
> i proofread this on my own cause everyone's bUSY so there's probs a hundred mistakes and cheesy lines, so apologies!
> 
> *Thanks for reading and kudos and comments are appreciated, homies* (insert cool gang sign here)


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